


The Consequences of His Actions

by xenocuriosa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alien Rituals, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Play, Aphrodisiacs, Chiss Politics, Cock Rings, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Masochism, Mutual Non-Con, Other, Public Humiliation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenocuriosa/pseuds/xenocuriosa
Summary: After the debacle withOutbound Flight, Mitth'raw'nuruodo faces his punishment before the Council of Families and the Defense Hierarchy.





	The Consequences of His Actions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shanlyrical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanlyrical/gifts).

Thrawn had made his final mistake, and Thrass was here to bear witness to his punishment.

The Chastisement was rarely used, being deemed too severe for most infractions, and rather unbecoming of the Chiss, for that matter. A relic from a more barbaric age. That said, it was meant to deliver a lesson—and it did, for the combined pain and humiliation usually served to make the Chiss under the lash know his place in the complex hierarchy of the Chiss social structure once more. There was nothing a Chiss deemed worse than failing his Family, after all, especially publically.

So the Families had voted and the Defense Hierarchy had had its say: it was to be the Chastisement for Thrawn, for his transgression with the Vagaari and his involvement in the humans' war. 

As the admiral under whose aegis Thrawn had been operating, it was up to Ar'alani to deliver the scourging. And as the representative from the Eighth Ruling Family—chosen, no doubt, for his relation to Thrawn; it was a test of  _ his  _ loyalty as well as a punishment for his brother—it was Thrass' responsibility to ensure the ritual was properly completed. 

He watched Ar'alani pace in a slow circle around Thrawn, the whip with its barbed tails held loosely in her hand; it had been passed down through generations for precisely this purpose, and was in excellent condition, the leather oiled, the barbs shined and sharpened. She didn't seem to have any reservations about the ritual; her face was composed and her hands were steady. Certainly she showed nowhere near the nervousness that Thrass did, who was gritting his teeth even before the scourging began, his hands tucked in the voluminous sleeves of his robes and clenched to keep from trembling.

Thrawn, unbelievably, seemed to have more composure than both of them. He was naked, as per the ritual, kneeling with his arms outstretched and tied to a ceremonial post embedded in the ground, carved with elaborate prayers to the Chiss gods of old. Superstition, but tradition. Thrass examined his brother closely, but saw nothing but calm in the set of his shoulders or his incredible stillness as he waited for the whip to descend.

Perhaps, though, a tightness to his expression, what little of it Thrass could see. A clenched jaw, downcast eyes. As the tribunal members filed in, Thrass saw his muscles tighten, then relax as Thrawn exhaled slowly.

_ Ah, brother! _ Thrass thought miserably.  _ Why must you make the decisions you do? _

Ar'alani waited until the representatives of the Families and the other admirals of the Defense Fleet had encircled them before giving the opening invocation.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," she said in a level voice, "you have transgressed against the Ascendancy and all it represents for the final time. You have been tried in court-martial and found guilty. As the reigning admiral, it is my duty to administer the punishment. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Admiral."

Thrawn's voice was strong and steady. Proud. It held none of the submissiveness or apology it should have held. It would, by the end of this.

Thrass closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. He had to witness this, for his brother's sake.

"Representatives of the Council of Families, do you agree to bear witness to Mitth'raw'nuruodo's shame?"

"We do," the representatives chorused, Thrass among them. Beside him, the representative from the Seventh Ruling Family, Chaf'ulo'sabosen, gave him a sidelong look; Thrawn's transgression would have repercussions beyond the Chastisement. Already Thrass saw the disrespect and scorn in the representative's gaze.

"Representatives of the Defense Hierarchy, do you agree to bear witness to Mitth'raw'nuruodo's pain?"

The Hierarchy members gave their answer.

Thrawn lifted his head and turned it, his eyes burning straight into Thrass. Thrass set his jaw and gazed back.

_ I can't help you now, _ he thought.  _ You've gone too far. _

Ar'alani turned back to Thrawn, trailed the barbs of the whip over Thrawn's bare back, like a lover's caress. Thrawn shivered involuntarily. Thrass saw his hands clench.

"Then I will begin the scourging," she said, and drew back her arm and let the whip fly through the air.

It struck Thrawn's back and the barbs ripped open his skin, vivid red blood dripping down the livid purple welts that immediately surfaced when the whip was pulled away. Thrawn exhaled sharply through his teeth; Thrass went stiff to keep himself from wincing.

Ar'alani merely struck him again.

The whip rose and fell, rose and fell, Ar'alani's arm tireless. Skin split and blood ran.

Several strokes in—more than Thrass would have credited, had it not been Thrawn, who at times seemed immune to physical discomfort—Thrawn cried out. Nothing but a yelp hastily bitten off, but Thrass could feel the interest of the audience shifting, growing more pointed. Thrawn had few friends here, and most wanted to see him brought down.

Thrass gritted his teeth and watched.

By the time Ar'alani had finished, blood was dripping from the barbs on the whip and Thrawn was lying limp in his bonds, his breathing ragged and his head bowed. Ar'alani stepped back.

"Is it well done?" she asked the representatives of the Families.

They answered in the affirmative—all but one.

"No," said Chaf'ulo'sabosen, and stepped forward. "I put before the Families and the Hierarchy that Mitth'raw'nuruodo—" He bared his teeth as he said Thrawn's name, and Thrass belatedly realized he came from the same House as a woman who Thrawn had outstripped for command of the  _ Springhawk _ . "—is not properly humbled."

He nodded to Thrawn, who had raised his head. His face was tear-streaked—pain so extreme would bring even Thrawn to tears—but his eyes were blazing in defiance and rare anger.

"Even now he resists the lessons of the Chastisement," Chaf'ulo'sabosen continued, gesturing at the blood-soaked man kneeling before him. "I put before the Tribunal that he receives the Abasement."

Thrass was speechless. Even Ar'alani looked taken aback. But the Tribunal murmured, and it was not with disapproval.

"Furthermore," said Chaf'ulo'sabosen, and there was clear malice and enjoyment in his tone now, "I put forth Syndic Mitth'ras'safis as the role of counselor to Admiral Ar'alani's chastiser."

Thrass took a sharp breath. To be suggested for this role as Thrawn's blood relation was too much. The Tribunal would  _ never _ —

He listened to the murmuring voices. They  _ might. _

"As the representative of the Eighth Ruling Family, I must protest this motion," snapped Thrass, his pulse throbbing in his head. "The Chastisement is sufficient for a crime of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's nature."

"On the contrary," Chaf'ulo'sabosen said silkily. "The Abasement is precisely what is necessary for Mitth'raw'nuruodo to be reminded of his place."

"He is Trial-Born to the Mitth' Family," Thrass reminded him icily.

"Ah, but he was a commoner once," Chaf'ulo'sabosen said. "And until he is fully accepted into the Mitth' Family—much like yourself, Syndic Mitth'ras'safis—the Abasement is certainly an allowable punishment for him."

Unsubtle but pointed. Thrass glared and didn't stand down.

"I wish my objection to be officially noted," he said to the Tribunal at large.

"Mine as well," said Ar'alani, surprising Thrass a little. He hadn't expected her to put her reputation on the line for Thrawn.

"Noted," said the head of the Hierarchy, her voice cool. "And dismissed. The Abasement will proceed."

She inclined her head to Thrass. "Syndic Mitth'ras'safis, I trust you will carry out your duty?"

Thrass stiffened. He glanced at Thrawn, who was watching him steadily. Who else could do it? The Abasement was solely about humiliation; would it be better for Chaf'ulo'sabosen to do it, simply due to Thrass' squeamishness?

"I will do it," Thrass said, and stepped forward to kneel beside his brother.

* * *

Laserfire hurt less than the lashing. It was deadly, but it was clean. Laserfire cauterized; perhaps more importantly, laserfire scars were the mark of a warrior, and while not ideal, not dishonorable either.

The lashing stung Thrawn's pride as much as it ripped open his skin. He recognized this. He also knew that he would have to set aside his pride to survive the Abasement, which took that which the Chiss held most private and sacred, and made it public, into an act of humiliation.

His brother trembled as he unbound the ropes tying Thrawn to the whipping post. Whether it was out of fury or fear, Thrawn could not tell. Perhaps a mix of both. 

As the ropes fell, so did Thrawn's arms, muscles limp and useless after a seemingly endless time spent seized in pain. Thrass caught him before he hit the blood-spattered floor, easing Thrawn's head into his lap and cradling him there. Thrawn exhaled harshly and forbade himself the urge to crawl into Thrass' arms, as he had when he was a young child in need of comfort. Even if that somehow did not show weakness, which it did, it would be excruciating; the lash-marks on his back were throbbing and every movement sent shooting pains throughout Thrawn's body.

It would be much worse by the time the Abasement was over.

Thrass stroked his hair gently, tucking the strands which had fallen in his eyes back behind his ears. He said, too softly for anyone else to hear, "It will be over soon."

Words of comfort. Lies. It would take exactly as long as the Abasement must take, and Thrawn had little frame of reference for that. He doubted it would be soon enough for his taste, however.

Behind him, Ar'alani was preparing her supplies. He could hear the clink of glass bottles and the muffled thump of her implements. She would not relish this, he knew; but she would go through with it nonetheless.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," she said formally, reserve in her voice. She would want to distance herself from this act. "You have been sentenced by the Tribunal to the Abasement. Do you protest?"

He could, Thrawn knew. The Abasement had to be endured in a spirit of willing penance. Thrawn did not have that, for he did not think he had committed an ethical transgression, but nor was he willing to face the consequences of expulsion from the Defense Fleet and Chiss society.

He was, however, willing to lie.

"I do not protest," he said. His voice was threadier than he had wished, but there was no sign of tears in it yet. He had that much, at least. "I accept this penance. Do what you must."

He could tell from the tension in the room that had he misspoken, though he wasn't sure what he ought to have said.

"Then let it begin," Ar'alani said, and approached him.

The injection came first, into his left thigh. He had hoped Ar'alani would skip this step and leave him to suffer pain without this added humiliation, but he should have know better; it was part of the ritual, and she would enact it to the letter.

The aphrodisiac took effect quickly. It was necessary, for few Chiss would be aroused after enduring the Chastisement, and the point of the Abasement was to show him at his weakest, in the combined grasp of pain and pleasure.

Thrawn shuddered as it took hold of him, his skin prickling. The slight shift of air across his slashed skin became a caress; his nipples and his  _ chteshka _ hardened in response. His vision sharpened, colors brightening and becoming more vivid. The burgundy fabric lining Thrass' robes deepened into the color of blood, the grey the shade of a stormcloud. He could smell Thrass, a familiar scent not unlike his own, feel his warmth as he held Thrawn's head. It was—

Arousing.

A simple physical response, spurred by the drug. It could not be helped. This, then, was why Chaf'ulo'sabosen had insisted on Thrass playing counselor; added humiliation for the both of them.

Ar'alani's hands, then, guiding him up from his prone position to kneeling, his head still pressed against Thrass' lap but his hips now in the air. Her touch was perfunctory, no passion in it; still Thrawn responded, his hips jerking when she took her hands away. But she did not move them away for long. There was the clink of the glass again, and then her finger, probing at his rear entrance.

It would be easier to bear if he had tensed, resisted it in any way. Instead, Thrawn moaned as Ar'alani slipped her finger inside him and shivered all over. The sensation was—quite impossible to process, the pleasure spurred on by the pain of his wounds, which the drug had turned into its own kind of pleasure. Pure sensation. She could whip him again and he would beg for more.

Thrass' arms tightened around him.

"This will hurt," he whispered. "Stay strong."

Thrawn almost laughed. Thrass had no idea what was happening to Thrawn at the moment, what strange interplay of chemicals were in his brain to force him to enjoy this.

Ar'alani inserted something much, much larger, the pressure incredible, and Thrawn gritted his teeth to hold back a groan. Unsuccessfully. He arched his back, the pain of his wounds flaring, and hissed with pleasure as it settled inside him, a heavy presence edged with pain.

Ar'alani reached between his legs to where his  _ chteshka _ throbbed, and latched a ring around the base. It was humming with a gentle vibration, stimulating him in a way that would have been pleasant in a different context. Thrawn knew, in theory, what this was. He had not expected to experience it in this situation, but he could see as if with precognition what would happen: the ring would prevent him from orgasm, and Ar'alani would tease him until he begged for it, before the entire Tribunal.

He wished he found the thought unappealing, but the drug had hijacked his brain, and all he could think of was desire.

Then the object inside him began to expand, stretching him to his limits and past them, until Thrawn was panting into Thrass' lap, his weak hands scrabbling at the floor, gripping Thrass' thighs. He was whimpering, he realized, making small pathetic noises as the object filled him and the ring's vibration intensified, his hips jerking as if that would help relieve the stimulation—or increase it.

Thrawn turned his head in Thrass' lap and opened his eyes. He had closed them at some point, lost in sensation. Now he faced the Tribunal, faced Chaf'ulo'sabosen in particular. Chaf'ulo'sabosen was clearly enjoying this, an unbecoming smirk on his face. Thrawn was uncertain what expression was on his own face as he caught Chaf'ulo'sabosen's gaze and held it, but it was enough to make the smirk fade.

Still, this was how every member of the Tribunal would remember him: not Mitth'raw'nuruodo the commander, not an honorable Trial-Born of the Mitth' Family, but a man on his knees, covered in blood and moaning whorishly for an audience.

The Abasement, Thrawn now saw, was effective indeed.

The torment continued. For Thrawn, time seemed to elapse in a fog, a haze of pleasure-pain mixed with the sound of his own voice, begging for release. He squirmed and shuddered in Thrass' arms, whispering Ar'alani's title in a broken tone. The sensation was unbearable, exquisite, terrible. He had at some point bitten through his lower lip and blood dripped on the floor, adding to the splatters that were already there.

Then Ar'alani said, "Make your apology."

Thrawn twisted as the vibration of the ring was increased, and hissed, "I'm sorry."

"Make your promise that you will not transgress again."

"I promise!"

Anything to stop that sensation; anything to come.

Ar'alani removed the ring, and when her hand brushed his  _ chteshka _ , Thrawn twitched and exploded.

When he had finished, he collapsed against Thrass. He could hear Ar'alani giving the invocation to end the ritual, and he exhaled shakily. The drug was short-acting; much longer, and the pleasure would have left him, leaving only excruciating pain in its wake. Perhaps Ar'alani had known.

"A suitable punishment," Chaf'ulo'sabosen commented to someone as the Tribunal began to exit, leaving Thrawn collapsed on the floor. "I suspect he won't step out of line again."

Thrawn smiled tightly into Thrass' lap. Chaf'ulo'sabosen was naive if he thought this would stop Thrawn from pursuing the course he deemed necessary. Humiliation and rape, however unpleasant, would not be a sufficient deterrent.

Nothing would.

* * *

The medpatches were not long enough to cover the entirety of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's lacerations, so Ar'alani was making do with layering them across the whip marks. They would heal without infection—Ar'alani had supervised the sterilization of the whip herself—but it would scar badly, another reminder for Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the risks he ran.

Ar'alani hoped it would stick this time.

Mitth'ras'safis looked almost as bad as Mitth'raw'nuruodo, albeit in a different way, his eyes wild as he paced the small perimeter of Ar'alani's personal lounge, to which they had retired. Mitth'raw'nuruodo, for his part, simply laid on the table while Ar'alani applied the medpatches to his back, his eyes tracking his brother. They did not glow with his usual intensity; as the drug faded from his system, it would leave behind a neurochemical depression that would last a day or two.

"That went further than it should have," Mitth'ras'safis said at last, coming to a halt by the table, near his brother's head. "I had no idea Chaf'ulo'sabosen had that much support—and in the Defense Hierarchy too!"

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo is not popular among the Hierarchy," Ar'alani said.

The man in question stirred, and said, "My crew is loyal."

"Yes," Ar'alani acknowledged. She finished placing the last medpatch and moved away, allowing Mitth'ras'safis to take her place. Truthfully, she had no right to care for Mitth'raw'nuruodo anyway, but her conscience nagged at her to repent somehow for what she had done despite her disagreement. "Those who serve under you are loyal. Your commanding officers do not appreciate the way you write your own orders."

"You included?" Mitth'raw'nuruodo twisted to look at her and hissed, wincing, as the wounds on his back twisted with him.

"Occasionally," Ar'alani said dryly. "But I cannot fault you for lack of results."

"Results don't matter to the Aristocras," Mitth'ras'safis said, absently stroking Mitth'raw'nuruodo's hair. The other man's eyes were half-lidded, accepting the comfort in a way Ar'alani would never have guessed. "Not when you flout Ascendancy doctrine the way you do. Thrawn, will you think twice the next time such a thing occurs to you?"

Mitth'raw'nuruodo was silent.

"One is not limited to a single Abasement," Ar'alani observed. "If you transgress again, it  _ will  _ happen again, and next time, we may not be there to protect you."

"I am aware," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replied.

He did not promise to think twice.

Ar'alani sighed and took her leave, closing the door on the two brothers. Mitth'ras'safis' posture was stiff; he was clearly gearing up for an argument, and this was something for family. Ar'alani had no right to witness it.

Instead, she went to her quarters to change out of her bloodstained uniform, already thinking about next steps. They would have to track the human ship, this  _ Outbound Flight  _ that had trespassed into Ascendancy territory, and from there, Ar'alani would have to argue hard to keep it within the Defense Fleet purview.

Ar'alani put Mitth'raw'nuruodo out of her mind for now. After all, she was an admiral of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet. She could not afford to be sentimental.

She could only hope he had learned his lesson.

But she knew he had not.


End file.
